


All I Ever Wanted

by eluna



Series: Subvert All The Tropes [11]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Codependent Winchesters (Supernatural), Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Kevin Tran Lives, Kid Fic, POV Sam Winchester, Pre-Season/Series 10, Season/Series 09, Single Parent Sam Winchester, Trope Subversion, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-25 15:05:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18576946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eluna/pseuds/eluna
Summary: He sits in the front seat with his head in his hands while Blossom screams and wails behind him, and he wishes more than anything that he could take her back to the bunker to strategize with Dean how to raise this kid together, but he can’t. Dean feels like a giant-ass hole punching through Sam’s chest right where it hurts the most. Dean left Sam, not the other way around; it was Dean who said he couldn’t live with Sam if Blossom was in the picture; Sam’s not going to come crying back to the man who left him after not three hours on his own, especially not at Blossom’s expense. But, fuck, Sam can’t do this without Dean. Dean’s the one who’s good with kids; Dean’s the only one who knows how to calm Sam down when he starts feeling—unmoored, panicked.





	All I Ever Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> The sequel no one asked for. What you need to know: Sparrow Jennings from the alien-sighting camp in Season 6 had Soulless!Sam's baby (Blossom), then was killed by Crowley at the end of Season 8, when he was killing everyone Sam and Dean ever saved. Sam agreed to stop the Trials in order to stop the deaths, took in Blossom as his own, and parted ways with Dean, who refused Sam's offer to raise Blossom with him.

Dean has been gone for scarcely two hours before Blossom starts screaming again. They’re at the grocery store, in the baby aisle, and Sam is struggling to remember everything Dean told him when they did this for the shifter baby back when Sam had no soul. Of what Sam does recall, he’s unsure how much is age-appropriate for a three-year-old, rather than the near-infant he and Dean had been shopping for. He’s just comparing diaper brands when Blossom squirms in her seat at the head of the cart and says, “I want Mumma.”

“We’ve been over this,” says Sam with waning patience. “Your Mumma is gone, honey. She’s not coming back. I wish I could bring her back to you, but I can’t.”

“I want Mumma! I don’t want to be here with you anymore!”

“Well, you don’t have a choice. I’m sorry.”

“Mumm- _a_! Where are you?!”

Blossom starts to thrash around where she’s buckled into the cart, kicking her little legs as hard as she can. Sam lets out a thinly controlled sigh and grabs one of the boxes of diapers at random.

It’s not that he’s mad at Blossom for not understanding why her mom has been suddenly replaced by a stranger. But he can only tell Blossom the truth and get back the same failure to register it so many times before he starts to feel like she’s never going to accept it—accept _him_. Like he can’t _do_ this.

People are starting to stare. Sam gives a haggard smile directed at no one in particular before turning back to the shelves and wondering whether Blossom still eats baby food or whether she’s old enough to eat what everybody else eats now. “Blossom, does your Mumma give you mashed-up food like this to eat?” he tries to ask, but the girl is unresponsive, inconsolable.

He does his best with the rest of the items in the aisle and then pushes his card toward the checkout, trying to avoid getting hit by Blossom’s kicking limbs. He’s starting to tell himself that he _really_ can’t do this—be a dad—but an equally insistent voice in his head says that Blossom _needs_ him to do it anyway. Sam is the only person who could be in Blossom’s life who is both family and aware of how to protect her from all the creepy-crawlies out there that want her dead. Blossom needs that—deserves that.

At first, the cashier turns a blind eye to Blossom’s screaming, but then Blossom turns to the clerk and wails, “Help me! He took my Mumma away!”

Sam’s attempt at a smile slides like sap off of his face. He doesn’t _mean_ to tell the whole story, but then he hears himself saying, “Her mom just died. I’m her dad, but I didn’t even know I had her until suddenly I had custody, and I don’t know how to make her understand what’s happened. I…”

God, is he _crying_? Sam swipes at his cheeks impatiently. When he looks up again, the cashier’s lips are twisted in sympathy.

“Hang in there,” says the woman. “Love can be learned.”

Sam tries to smile and fails.

* * *

Blossom pounds her little fists against Sam the whole while as he buckles her into the narrow backseat of the truck he jacked after splitting up with Dean. Shit, he’s got to get her a car seat. Sam has only been a dad for a few hours, and there are already so many tiny details that have crept up on him, so impossibly many things he needs to keep track of if he wants to do Blossom right.

He sits in the front seat with his head in his hands while Blossom screams and wails behind him, and he wishes more than anything that he could take her back to the bunker to strategize with Dean how to raise this kid together, but he can’t. Dean feels like a giant-ass hole punching through Sam’s chest right where it hurts the most. _Dean_ left _Sam_ , not the other way around; it was Dean who said he couldn’t live with Sam if Blossom was in the picture; Sam’s not going to come crying back to the man who left him after not three hours on his own, especially not at Blossom’s expense. But, fuck, Sam can’t _do_ this without Dean. Dean’s the one who’s good with kids; Dean’s the only one who knows how to calm Sam down when he starts feeling—unmoored, panicked.

 _Dean would want you to nut up_ , he tells himself firmly. _You aren’t scared of some little kid, are you?_

But the truth is that Sam _is_ afraid of Blossom. He’s afraid of her own obvious fear and hatred of him, and he’s afraid that she’ll always resent him, never forget this terrible day, never grow to love him like she loves her mother.

* * *

Sam’s in a motel room working on forging documentation for Samuel and Blossom Jones when the sky lights up with too many falling stars. Blossom has finally drifted off into an uneasy sleep on the single king bed, and Sam is loathe to wake her, but the long white streaks showering the sky are _not natural_ and Sam’s fingers are shaking as he goes for his phone. Garth doesn’t answer. Kevin’s phone doesn’t even ring, just beeps over and over like it’s out of service. He even tries praying to Castiel, but the angel doesn’t come. No one comes.

Finally, reluctantly, he pulls up Dean in his contacts and presses Call. The phone rings twice before Dean picks up. “Kinda busy here, Sammy.”

“I know,” Sam stutters. “I-I mean, I saw. Are those—?”

“Angels. Falling,” Dean says tersely, and after a brief pause, he adds, “What you calling me about it for?”

“I couldn’t get through to anyone else. I had to—”

“Had to do what, huh? Is this what you call getting out?”

Sam freezes, realizing just then that he had been pacing the room. “You’re right. This isn’t my problem anymore,” he says, throat tightening. “Take care, Dean.”

It isn’t until now, standing there dumbly on the phone with Dean telling him to go, that Sam feels the full impact of what he’s done—how he’s burned down everything he knows, everything he loves. Angels, demons, monsters: he’s traded his involvement for a life protecting his child from the very things by which he used to define himself. More than that, he’s lost _Dean_ —his anchor, the only person he’s ever believed he truly needs.

Sam can’t hang up the phone until he can bring himself to accept that he’s setting aside the most meaningful relationship he’s ever knows. He stands there with the phone in his hand for a long, long time after Dean hangs up the line.

* * *

The ensuing weeks pass in a blur to Sam, who, now that his and Blossom’s legitimizing documentation is complete, busies himself applying for jobs so that he can afford to settle down and pay rent with honest money. In the meantime, they bounce from motel to motel, always skipping town before the credit card bills come due. Grudgingly, Sam comes to appreciate how hard it must have been for Dad to keep them in one place for very long without any stable income to fund it.

“Who am I?” he asks Blossom every morning when she wakes him up.

“My dad,” she answers, screwing her face into a scowl.

“What’s my name?”

“Sam Jones.”

“And what’s _your_ name?”

Most days, she responds, “Blossom Jennings.”

To which Sam tells her, “No, sweetie, that _used_ to be your name, but you have a new one now. You have to remember to tell the new one to anyone who asks. What is it?”

“Blossom Jones,” she says, her scowl deepening.

One day, Sam is pleasantly surprised to see Kevin’s name on the caller ID of his phone when it starts to ring. He picks it up, grinning broadly. “Kevin! Hey!”

“Hey, Sam.” Kevin’s voice sounds thin and tired. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good—but how are you? I tried calling you when the angels fell; your phone sounded like it was out of service.”

“Yeah, the bunker locked down,” says Kevin. “My phone stopped working, the computer went crazy, the whole thing. Listen, Sam—what the hell is going on, man?”

Sam’s grin fades as he collapses onto the motel bed he shares with Blossom. “I got out. I had to,” he says simply.

“Look, I know you get into your fights with Dean sometimes, but it’s been _months_. Dean won’t even talk about you. He shuts down every time your name comes up; he won’t tell me what you fought about or why you left—”

“I have a daughter.”

“You have a _daughter_?”

“I got her mother pregnant when I was soulless. Crowley had her mother killed, so I had to take her on. I _had_ to,” says Sam with a pleading note in his voice. “That’s why I stopped the Trials, and that’s why I can’t come by the bunker. Besides, Dean doesn’t want to see either of us. He was very clear on that point.”

“Shit, man.” Kevin sighs into the phone. “I’m sorry Dean took it so hard. Have you tried at least talking to him since you left? Because—”

Sam interrupts, “If Dean doesn’t want to talk to me, I’m not wasting my time trying to get him back. I’m just not.”

“Fine. Be stubborn.” Kevin sounds resigned. “But know that it isn’t just Dean you left behind.”

“Kevin, I—”

“I gotta go. Take care of yourself, Sam.”

He hangs up, and Sam is left holding his phone in his hand, the line dead, his thoughts racing.

* * *

Sam gets his first break when he finally gets a job. It’s in a little suburb of St. Paul working as a secretary at an elementary school—nothing glamorous, but hopefully enough to pay the bills and keep Blossom fed. Packing up what little they own, they make the trek from their latest motel in Missouri to Minnesota, Blossom bouncing impatiently in her car seat.

Kevin checks in occasionally, calling for a short chat every few weeks. At first, he keeps Sam loosely abreast of what’s going on in the hunting world: a newly human Castiel takes off looking to find Metatron and restore his missing grace; Charlie has taken up hunting and becomes Dean’s new partner. Sam can hardly stand to think of the four of them all sharing the Bunker as a home base, of Dean trading rock aliases and working cases with someone other than Sam, while Sam is holed up in Minnesota with a job he hates and a three-year-old who hates him.

“I don’t hate you, Sam,” says Blossom quietly when Sam gets off the phone, having just vented his parenting frustrations to Kevin.

Sam blanches and turns to find Blossom toddling in the open doorway of his bedroom. “You’re supposed to be in bed,” he says dumbly.

“I’m not tired,” she says with a hint of a whine. “Why do you think I hate you?”

“Because… because I took you away from your Mumma, or at least it must look that way.”

Blossom pauses for a long time. “I miss her,” she says eventually. “I wish we could all go back home and live together. You, me, and Mumma.”

Sam looks into her earnest little face and feels a sudden rush of shame. He’s been treating this little girl like an obligation—and a particularly difficult one at that—instead of like a whole person with wishes and feelings and personality and not just needs, and here she is, telling him that she’s somehow learned to accept him anyway, even as she mourns the loss of her mother. “Come here,” he says, and Blossom hesitates, runs up to the edge of the bed, and hesitates again. Sam pats the mattress next to him encouragingly, and Blossom hops up and sits down cross-legged, leaning her shoulder apprehensively against Sam’s arm.

He reels her in for a one-armed hug. “What was one of your favorite things to do with Mumma?”

“Um…” says Blossom, dragging out the word and rolling her eyes around up toward the ceiling. “I liked it when we would go to the zoo.”

“Well, then, I guess this weekend you and I are going to the zoo.”

She leans in close and squeezes Sam’s middle. “Really? Can we go tomorrow?”

Sam laughs. “No, honey, you have school and I have work. We’ll go on Saturday.”

“Promise?”

He looks down at her and smiles. “I promise.”

* * *

Months pass. Charlie calls a few times in between hunts, and Sam makes an effort to sound enthusiastic rather than jealous off his ass. Kevin remains Sam’s only regular correspondent, though he eventually stops giving supernatural updates and limits their conversations to Sam’s stories and banter about Netflix and HBO shows. He invites Sam more than once to bring Blossom by the Bunker, confident that they’ll both be safe there, but Sam declines every time, unable to bear the thought of himself and Dean awkwardly dancing around each other.

Dean never contacts him. Neither does Castiel. Sam thinks about the way the two of them look at each other sometimes and feels like he’s going to be sick.

And then, one day, Kevin leaves him a voicemail during the workday. Sam presses play a few hours later as he’s walking to his car, listens, stops walking, and listens again.

“Hey, Sam, it’s Kevin. Look, Dean’s—he has something called the Mark of Cain, and it wouldn’t let him die, and now he’s a—we think he’s a demon. He’s not possessed, it’s _him_ , but he’s a demon now. Crowley told us after he got all butt-hurt that Dean didn’t want to buddy up with him. We think he’s going after you and Blossom, Sam—you need to be careful, okay? Get on the road, and don’t leave a credit card trail. Just take Blossom and go.”

Shit. _Shit_. Sam’s mind races. Blossom ought to still be at daycare, and Sam is the only person on Blossom’s approved pick-up list, so either she’s still safe there or Dean’s razed the whole place to the ground. He can only hope that Dean hasn’t swung by there already and murdered everyone in his quest to get Blossom. Sam will grab Blossom, get his emergency stash of cash from under his mattress, and take off, praying to god that they don’t run into Dean on the way.

So Dean is a demon now. Sam may not understand how—he’s never even heard of the Mark of Cain—but he knows enough to know that Dean must still resent Sam for leaving the life to take care of Blossom, judging by how he hasn’t called all these months, and if he’s a demon, that resentment could easily turn to rage. Sam can only hope that—

The daycare, and everyone in it, is intact when Sam reaches it. He breathes a sigh of relief and tries to mask his anxiety, but Blossom still asks him, “Daddy, what’s wrong?” as they’re walking to the car. Sam thinks for a second and then opts for honesty.

“Do you remember my brother, Dean?”

“No,” says Blossom after a pause.

“He was with me the day I met you. Something… something happened to him and is making him want to hurt us, and now you and I have to leave and go somewhere where we’ll be safe.”

Blossom takes a moment to process, letting Sam strap her into her car seat. “But I don’t want to leave. I like it here.”

“It’s not safe anymore, sweetie. You have to listen to me and do exactly as I say so that you don’t get hurt, okay? Daddy just needs to pick up one thing from the house, and then we can go.”

He hopes against hope that Dean won’t be waiting at the house for them. Dean, a _demon_. Sam knew, taking Blossom in, that there was a risk something would come after them, but the risk never really felt real before now, and he never would have dreamed that the threat would be Dean. He worked so hard to get out of the life for Blossom’s sake, and now…

He doesn’t see the Impala parked in front of the house, but that isn’t to say that Dean isn’t still inside. “Blossom, I need you to be very, very quiet. When we go inside, okay?” Sam carries her out of the car and toward the house instead of setting her down to walk like usual. She nods, miming zipping her lips.

He unlocks the front door with his free hand and inches his way inside. He’s got devil’s traps painted on the ceiling above every door to the outside; if Dean is there, he should at least be trapped and unable to hurt Blossom for the moment, although Sam wouldn’t put it past Dean to find some way to get free and cause some real damage. Dean isn’t stuck by the front door when Sam walks inside, so Sam’s plan is to bypass the other entryways entirely, make a beeline for the money under the mattress, and get the hell out as quickly and quietly as possible.

Sam and Blossom creep up the steps and make a left into Sam’s bedroom. Sitting on the bed, easy as you please, is Dean.

His hair is parted to the side, and he’s wearing slacks and a dress shirt that Sam doesn’t recognize. He snaps his fingers, and Blossom gasps for a breath that doesn’t come and clutches her neck, eyes welling up with tears.

“You leave her alone!” roars Sam, clutching Blossom to his chest.

“Cute,” says Dean smugly. “It’s almost as if she’s grown on you as more than just an accessory. Nice try with the devil’s traps, by the way. You really ought to have warded all of your windows, too.”

“Leave her out of this. Your beef is with me.”

Dean shrugs and snaps his fingers again; Blossom gulps in air and starts to cry. “You’re lucky I like to play with my food before I eat it.”

“What do you want with us?” says Sam.

“You’ve got two choices,” says Dean. “One: you dump the bitch somewhere, and you and I go out on the road. We stay away from other demon, but point me in the direction of a monster, and I’ll kill it.”

“And the other choice?”

Dean smiles slyly. “I kill the bitch and take you as my pet, the same way that Lucifer took you in the Cage.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” says Sam, bouncing Blossom on his hip a little to soothe her.

He just needs to keep Dean talking long enough to get to the gun in his safe, the one with the devil’s trap bullets. Once he can trap Dean, he can transport him back to the Bunker, where he can enlist Kevin, Charlie, and Castiel’s help to cure him, the way they heard the Men of Letters do so on tape back when Sam was still investigating the Trials. If he can just get to his closet—

“So what’s it gonna be?” says Dean, and he takes Blossom’s breath away again with another snap of his fingers.

For a terrible, precious moment, Sam allows himself to entertain the thought of it: striking back out on the road with Dean, just the two of them hunting monsters and saving people, no Blossom or Charlie or Castiel to get in the way of their partnership—no, their brotherhood. He was kidding himself, thinking he could ever keep Blossom out of this life by raising her away from it. He’s missed Dean _so_ much, and if there’s even a chance that he could cure him out there and make things be the way they were—


End file.
